


and you heard about me (big reputation)

by andathousandyearsmore



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Dialogue Heavy, Fluff, Getting Together, He’s Beauty He’s Grace He’s Mr. United States, Humor, Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Oblivious Steve Rogers, Pining Bucky Barnes, Pining Tony Stark, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Romance, Secrets, Steve Rogers Is Living His Best Life Right Now, Steve Rogers Isn’t A Virgin, Team as Family, mostly because of the scenes with Natasha, steve’s got a few things he wants to hide, we stan a killer queen, ❤
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-22
Updated: 2019-01-22
Packaged: 2019-10-06 09:14:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17342603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andathousandyearsmore/pseuds/andathousandyearsmore
Summary: Steve was incredibly glad that two of his closest friends had finally started dating. After years of dating around without having more than one steady partner, both of them deserved each other. Not to mention the fact that they were a beautiful couple that everyone in the Tower had shipped formonthsbefore the two idiots had gotten it together.There was only one drawback to the entire getting together. Everyone had now considered that a mission well completed, and now had a new goal. And maybe, in a different time and place, he would have been less annoyed about it and gone along with it, but now? Really?Steve was just fed up with everyone trying to be involved in his perfectly thriving life. And yes, he did have one, Natasha, could you please stop poking into it and yes, he was perfectly happy with it, Sam, stop psychoanalyzing, and yes, he wasn’t lying, Clint, he just knew what discretion meant.Now if only he knew what the glances that everyone shot him in the Tower meant, and what he could do to stop them. They were getting to be annoyingly pitiful and long-suffering. Actually, they looked the exact same as the ones from Bucky and Tony’s pining mess, which was absolutely ridiculous.





	and you heard about me (big reputation)

**Author's Note:**

> welcome to another episode of ‘oh! that’s where that fic went! let’s post it on ao3!’ featuring oblivious!steve, pining, notavirgin!steve, and of course, the avengers!
> 
> also featuring an au where Tony knew about his parents because Steve told him as soon as he could and an au where the airport fight was staged so that Steve and Bucky could finish the other WSs mission, where Zemo tried to tear them apart but failed. the accords—after a few months of renegotiating, declining public approval, and the legends that are Maria Hill and new SHIELD—were scrapped!
> 
> the first chapter is just a lot of exposition, bear with me here

 

No one had known when exactly Tony and Bucky had gotten together. No one had known just how it had happened, either, or who finally couldn’t hold their feelings and asked the other out. No one really knew just what was happening between Tony and Bucky besides the fact that they were together. 

They had revealed it one random morning, when Steve was in the kitchen making breakfast crepes and softly humming an Irish song that his mother often sang. Natasha and Clint were having a heated conversation in Spanish, which was rather tame compared to previous conversations in Russian, Italian, Czech, or even Hindi. Wanda and Bruce seemed to be having conversations about Wanda’s biology class and concepts that Steve remembered learning, both back in the 20’s and when he woke up in an effort to get caught up. Thor was away on Asgard, which Steve was secretly thankful for since he  _never_ had enough batter to sate the god’s appetite. Sam was slumped over on the table, sleeping. Vision, with a cool, collected demeanor, simply surveyed the room after asking Steve if he required some assistance, just like he did every day. 

Steve hadn’t really been concerned with the fact that both Tony and Bucky were missing from breakfast, not when it was still a little early, and not when this was the standard. A few months ago, he would have been concerned for Bucky and the Winter Soldier. A few years ago, he would have been concerned with Tony and his tendency to stay up for days with little to none sustenance. Now, he didn’t have to worry about it at all, considering how much Bucky tended to fuss over Tony with food and sleep, and considering how the two had very similar sleep schedules (read: still erratic). Somewhere in their combined erratic behaviors, they had worked out a joint reasonable and healthy-resembling system. 

It was obvious to even people in the ISS that Tony and Bucky were head-over-heels for each other. 

Which was when the two of them had come into the breakfast room together, no one had batted an eye. Even when they sat together, close enough for it to be cuddling, no one had thought any different. This was still all very normal. What had gotten them all was the fact that Bucky pressed a shy kiss to Tony’s cheek before grabbing two mugs of coffee next to where Steve stood. 

Steve, having let go of the mixing spoon in surprise and delight, grinned triumphantly. “I win,” he said, referring to everyone else’s bet. “Everyone owes me money.” 

Natasha and Clint paused their conversation to simultaneously slap twenty dollar bills into Steve’s outstretched palm, glaring all the while. Wanda floated over another forty dollars—twenty from her and twenty from Bruce—into his hand while Vision simply walked over and handed it. Steve flashed them all another winning smile. He would get Sam’s money later.

“Congratulations, finally!” Steve smiled at his two best friends. 

Tony sat up straight in his chair. “Wait a second, you _bet_  on us? And  _Steve_ won?”

Clint glared at him. “We all thought you’d get together faster. If you didn’t make it before the end of the week, like Steve had bet, we were going to buy a whole entire selection of condoms and lube.” 

“You weren’t subtle,” Steve shrugged. 

“You know what?” Tony suddenly asked with a look of utmost betrayal on his face. “Bets right now, on when Steve’ll finally get laid in the 21st century.” 

“Dibs on 2012,” Steve called out offhandedly, hearing the bet first and not thinking about what it meant for him. He was the only one now, to keep his love life private and a mystery, much to everyone’s (and Natasha) chagrin. Everyone in the Tower knew that Natasha and Pepper had something going on, and Clint and Coulson had been together since forever. Steve was proud of himself, slightly, for managing to have the upper hand on even the spies.

It wasn’t for a lack of said life, no, Steve was never shy about things like that. History had gotten him down as a guy who blushed talking to ladies, and sure, many women hadn’t given him the time of day before the transformation, but they hadn’t mentioned something else. Steve was fantastic at men. He was still considerably decent at women, but it was only _Peggy_ who had gotten him all tongue-tied. She was a bullwhip powerful, queenly radiant kind of person who pulled people into serving her orbit and listening to her, and when all was said and done, she was the reason why they realized hurricanes and tornadoes were named after people.

He internally groaned. Steve knew for a fact that everyone had a pool running on if he was a virgin or not. The few people who bet no, also had a pool running on when. Of course, they all picked Peggy in ‘45. When he first learned about that, he was fighting himself not to laugh loudly. There were only off by a decade. Whatever.

“93! Not bad, Steve, for losing it,” Tony said, trying to throw everyone off of his path, for the new relationship. Steve rolled his eyes; who did Tony think he was fooling?

Steve heard money being passed from behind him, since he was facing the crepe batter again. He shook his head with a knowing smile.

Catching the smug tone in Tony’s voice, and never resisting a challenge, he replied, “I wasn’t aware that virginity reset at the start of every century.” The cat was out already, what more could this little tidbit hurt.

Bucky choked on his coffee, before asking, “Peggy?” He had a smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes. Steve wondered what that was for. He had always gotten the impression that Bucky and Peggy hadn’t been particularly nice to each other at the start. It had taken an entire undercover op with just the two of them that had warmed them up to each other; completely. After that, they got along far too well for Steve’s sanity. So why the long face now?

Steve shook his head; why was everyone so quick to assume that the two of them had an epic war romance? He knew that they hadn’t confirmed nor denied anything during the war. That way, women would stay out of his way, and men wouldn’t disrespect Peggy, though it still rankled him that her worth was equated with his. Back then, and even now, people just couldn’t see what a leader she was.

“A few times,” he said, trying to determine if the batter looked ready to use. “But it wasn’t like that, and we weren’t each other’s anything.”

“Wait, wait, wait, are you telling me that the great romance of Peggy Carter and Steve Rogers was fictional?” Tony asked.

Steve thought about it for a second. “The two of us were— _we_ were a convenient idea and maybe we could have been, if we wanted to, if we tried, if we had to, but romance? People always mistook our mutual respects and our different genders as signs of love.” This time, when Steve looked down at his batter, it was ready to use. Finally. 

“Peggy Carter and Steve Rogers: An Insurance Plan,” Clint said, pretending like he was announcing the title of a movie from his chair. His hands were outstretched and dangerously close to hitting Natasha. 

He shook his head again. “It wouldn’t have been much different from a lot of others back then,” he said, needing to set something straight. “But we would have married each other in a heartbeat if the war ever ended.”

That disgruntled expression popped up on Bucky’s face again, and Steve gave up understanding why. 

Wanda looked horribly confused. “Wait. Were you together, or no?”

Steve turned around and winked at the rest cheekily. “That’s up to you to figure out. Storytime’s over.”

Sam snored on, blissfully unaware for the moment.

“Yikes,” Tony commented, getting up for another cup of coffee. “At least Bucky and I got our shit together last week and yesterday. Aunt Peggy and Steve did not.”

“Well,” Steve dryly commented, turning the heat on for the pan. “She did find Angie, so maybe that was all for the best.”  

 

* * *

* * *

“Steve,” Natasha called out to him, stopping him in his tracks. 

He obediently turned around and made an inquisitive face at her, confused. She didn’t look like she was going to do anything but simply talk to him, but then again, it was Natasha. “Mm?”

”Convenient, but not convenient enough for you two to do it. Why not?” Natasha asked, referencing the conversation from above. She was steadily walking towards him, so Steve leaned back on the wall of the corridor and made himself comfortable there. For a second, he was cursing the hallway to have such beautiful lighting only because it was ruining the moods that Natasha had already set. 

He didn’t doubt for a second that Natasha had either already guessed him out, or she had dozens of ideas swirling in her head; the lost shortening with every minute. Steve didn’t bother lying either, since Natasha would have never been fooled. He had gotten this far with keeping quiet; he’d continue to do it now. 

“Women were not treated with respect in the army, or even the SSR. A widow, on the other hand, would never see the light of another mission again. In our line of work...” Steve trailed off, having mastered the art of lying by omission by age five. He said it clearly and cryptically enough that Natasha could draw her own conclusions, that he had led her to, without being too suspicious. 

“Precautions,” she said, with a quirk of her mouth. Natasha was standing in front of him now, close to the other wall across from him. 

He smiled. “What do you want to know, Natasha?”

”They’re all convinced that you’re still pining for her, underneath the calm exterior,” she responded, carefully leaving herself out of that mention. 

Steve crossed his arms across his chest comfortably. He raised an eyebrow teasingly. “And you?”

”It’s clever,” she complimented. “Bringing up Director Carter this morning, and convincing them that you’re still not over her to get them off of your back.” Steve took it, knowing he might not get another compliment like that from her again. 

“And you?” Steve repeated, meeting her eyes and smirking. 

“You mourned a friend when you woke up, not a lover. Actually, you mourned family, friends, colleagues, and your life, but no lovers at all,” Natasha observed, making a big show of avoiding his question while still answering it. 

“War does to some men,” he said in a somber tone reserved for old men in movies that reminisced while staring off into the sunset. He lowered his lashes for dramatic effect before sobering up and smirking again. 

“Not you,” she counter-argued quickly. “And my last two projects have finally succeeded 100%, so I’m bored.”

Steve snorted. “Don’t let Tony hear you say that.” 

“You said you wanted to get back in the dating field before SHIELD and Bucky,” Natasha said. 

He shuddered, figuring out just what she wanted to do. “The last date you set me up on; she was more into my shield than anything else. Literally.” 

“Well—“

”You suggested Peggy’s niece. _Peggy’s undercover niece whose job it was to spy on me, not start a relationship that neither of us really wanted_ , Natasha,” Steve pointed out.

“Why don’t you want to? What’s changed?” Natasha abruptly asked, moving from her previous matchmaking failures. 

“Natasha,” Steve dryly said, shooting her a Look™️. 

“Everything has settled,” she tried. “The storm’s passed. Clint has Coulson, I have Pepper, Thor has Jane, Bruce and Betty are back together, and even Tony and Bucky have each other. Scott’s doing well by Cassie and Hope, T’Challa has Nakia, Wanda and Vision are dancing around each other, even Peter had Liz, and now, maybe, Michelle. Sam and Maria are dancing around something too. What’s stopping you?” 

“Nothing,” he said, amused. “There’s just one thing consistently wrong with all the girls you want me to date.” 

Natasha’s eyes flickered in interest. “What?” 

He eyed with a careful deliberation. Did he want to tell her? Natasha would keep a secret, no doubt, but did he want her to? If he ever found someone, he needed to be able to bring them to the Tower so... would this be the first step? Starting off small and then expanding over to others? But did he want to start off with Natasha, over safer, saner choices like Bucky?

Oh, fuck it.

“Peggy and I were good together in name, theory, and practice to everyone else but um, we weren’t like–it couldn’t have been like that. We were definitely attracted to each other, there was no questioning that, and we were good friends and partners, but she had a preference for dating women far more than men. I, on the other hand, had a preference for dating men far more than women,” Steve said, reminiscing the conversation from both five and seventy five years ago. He ducked his head down shyly, remembering _just what exactly_ they had both said in hushed words and loud silences.

“Men,” Natasha said in disbelief, and also like she was mad at herself for not noticing. “ _That’s_ what… oh god.” Her face suddenly filled with horror and realization (as much as she would let show) and Steve knew that she was thinking about something else. He just didn’t know what.

He let his confusion show. “Bisexual,” he corrected, still blinking underneath the weight of her look, “just not biromantic.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow at him, intrigued. “No one else knows. Why not Bucky?” 

He shrugged indiscriminately, trying to be as nonchalant as possible. “I don’t advertise my love life. S’the only thing I’ve got private anymore. Even then, not fully, not when I was thought to be with Peggy, or when I’m thought to be with you, or Wanda, Asgard forbid, or Tony, or Bucky, or even Sam or Thor or Bruce or Clint or any of the SHIELD agents, including Darcy and Maria.” 

“You do realize—“

”Yeah. But after someone showed me a fan-written story about me and _Wanda’s dead twin_ _brother,_  that crossed a line,” Steve shuddered again, wishing desperately he didn’t have an eidetic memory, if only to forget that moment. It was incredibly disrespectful towards both Wanda and Pietro. “A line that wasn’t even crossed by a story about me and _Loki_.”

“It’s almost always you, isn’t it?” Natasha asked. “Everyone’s trying to tell you that you need company, _Steve_.”

Steve gave her a cool look, almost in exasperation. “I’m trying to tell everyone that I’m perfectly happy. Namely you, _Natasha_. Focus on Wanda and Vision if you have to.” 

She was undeterred. Of course. When was Natasha ever going to let something stop her? She was stubborn and driven, something so familiar to him. “At least they have an end goal in mind.” 

“I’m not lonely,” Steve insisted. When Natasha shot him an incredulous look that said it all, he repeated, “I’m not. And I’m perfectly content with how I’m living. I have a life, family, friends, a job, a few hobbies, things I love, and everything I could possibly need.” 

“Fine,” Natasha conceded. Or Steve had thought she had conceded, and then she asked, “But when was the last time you got laid?”

He had been expecting that question every since she had mentioned Peggy, and therefore was ready. “Friday night,” he responded without a hint of shame or pride. It was just a fact, plain and simple. 

She quirked an eyebrow. And then Natasha smiled, a crinkle of the eyes and a warm tug of the lips that seemed simultaneously out-of-place and just right on her face. It was quite possibly the scariest thing she had done. “It seems I’ve underestimated you, Steve.” 

He grinned at her, swallowing down any worry about what that could have possibly meant. 

“Why not anyone else?” Natasha suddenly asked, sharp and fast as a snake’s scales. 

“Never came up,” he said, looking at her directly in the eye and still smiling, lying through his teeth and knowing that she knew it. 

“Why me?” Natasha changed her wording, probably to draw some kind of an answer. 

“It came up,” he merely responded, giving away barely anything. 

“Surely you could have mentioned it to me before, at any point?” Natasha huffed, purely for show. 

“And have you actually think about the men, too? It wouldn’t be fair to them, even if I was interested,” Steve rolled his eyes, shrugging. 

“Well, why not?” A pause. “Don’t give me any of that ‘shared life experiences’ bullshit.”

“Well, I do currently have a beautifully thriving life that doesn’t really need another person for the time being,” Steve said. “I don’t need something else right now and... I need to figure a few things out for myself. I can get by on my own.” 

He was suddenly met with an intense moment of déjà vu that left him reeling. 

“Steve, didn’t you get the memo?” Natasha asked, something flashing in her eyes that was uncharacteristic. She didn't seem to pick up what he was deliberately trying to hide. Good. “You don’t have to.” 

There was that déjà vu again. Steve kept off the wall he was leaning on and began to walk away, shaking his head all the while. 

* * *

Ever since Natasha had pointed it out to him, Steve couldn’t help but notice how she had been so right about everyone else. There were couples, or about-to-be-couples, or will-they-won’t-they couples everywhere. It was like she had told everyone to specifically rub it in his face that he was single and unattached. The universe was definitely mocking him and his earlier conversation with Natasha; there was no other explanation for what was happening. 

He just wasn’t interested though, and certainly not jealous, despite how bitter he may have sounded. Steve, with the exception of the lie and the omission at the end, had told Natasha the truth about being content. It was completely true that he didn’t think he was _lacking_ anything or anyone at all. The only thing getting him now was how annoying the entire situation was. Natasha was out there somehow, smirking at how everything was playing out. 

Complicated. That was the best word to describe his love life. That had been the case in Brooklyn, art school and _Roth_ , Peggy, his random hookups, Maria, his random hookups and the world of Grindr, Maria again, and his random hookups/Qasim again. Out of all those, Peggy was the only one that people had known about, and they had thought there was love involved, not sex. It was really the other way around. And love... that had only been _Roth_ and a few fleeting crushes. It was a problem when Steve couldn’t even say his name without feeling a few pangs of regret and _what ifs_? 

Steve didn’t mention it not because he was ashamed, or because he wanted to hide, but because it was the only thing that was his in the new world. Back then, it was illegal, and he could have told Bucky since he knew that Bucky was bisexual too, but he just couldn’t. Now, he just didn’t mention it because he knew Bucky would ask why Steve didn’t share before and Steve didn’t have an answer he was willing to share. How was Steve supposed to say it? And to the rest of the team, well, it really hadn’t ever come up. 

Admittedly, he had felt something when he learned that Arnie—there, he said his name—had gone on to live a fulfilled life with a guy named Michael who was everything that Arnie had deserved, and a genuinely good guy. Also admittedly, he had cried when he found out that Arnie had died, but Michael hadn’t, and Steve had gone quite a few times to talk to him. They had become friends. The two of them had swapped stories, and based on the sound of it, it seemed that Michael, hadn’t known. That was, up until Michael’s remark on the apprehension he had felt when Steve initially contacted him.

_“What do you mean?” Steve had asked, surprised._

_“That’s how I met him,” Michael had said, eyes dancing with a smile that was echoed on his face. “He was trying to drown himself in liquor, and he hadn’t even realized that the drinks I was giving him were nonalcoholic.”_

_”You know, then?”_

_”Of course,” Michael answered. “It was hard to miss, with the way he couldn’t think straight.”_

_”I—”_

_”Kept glancing at the newspaper someone was reading about your death like it had personally walked up to him amd slapped a condolence letter. Told me that his lover had died.”_

_“Oh god,” Steve had apologetically murmured. “Oh god.”_

_”He never did quite get over you. He eventually told me about the two of you and—”_

_”I’m so sorry. I mean, yeah, I’m sorry.”_

_”Don’t be. He found me and we lived a fantastic life together. ‘Sides, I had lost someone too. And we moved on. Only question is if you are.” Michael hadn’t sounded the slightest bit bitter or judging, but rather sympathetic and quietly caring._

_Steve had smiled and shook his head. “I suppose it’s the same for me, then. Moved on but not forgotten.”_

_There was a spark of interest in Michael’s face. “Oh? Do you have someone?”_

_”No, I don’t think I’m quite ready for that. Yet. World’s moved a little too fast and a little too slow for me to jump in,” Steve had explained, especially since it had only been a few months since he had been decorated at the time._

_“It’s always the first time that’s scary,” Michael sympathized. “Have someone set up a blind date.”_

_Steve had laughed at that. “I have more than a few people who’d jump at the chance if I let them.” Natasha was a clear first at the top of the matchmaking list, but that didn’t mean that no one else had a staked interest in his love life, or their assumption of a lack thereof._

_“There are also apps for that,” Michael informed._

_He nodded. “Nat—work friend—has already taken care of that. Said if I don’t use them, she’s going to make me.”_

_”Sounds like a fierce lady.”_

_Steve sighed. “I haven’t told her yet she’s going about the dating route in the wrong way.”_

_”Well, I hope I’m not the first one to tell you it’s accepted.”_

_”No, no,” Steve shook his head, “The first day I walked around, I briefly saw two girls holding hands and then looked up everything. They hadn’t told me anything yet.”_

_”You missed it all, Steve, Stonewall, the AIDS crisis, decriminalization, a few places accepting it.”_

_”And yet there's still so much.”_

_”Slow world.”_

_“Yeah.”_

That conversation had progressed into a lot more things that the world had made for the better, and a lot more things the world hadn’t changed, or made for the worst. Steve quickly learned that SHIELD had told him barely anything. They hadn’t even told him about the moon landing before Michael mentioned it. The _moon landing_ and people in space. The ISS. Oh, god.

 

* * *

* * *

Steve was wondering just how he had a migraine when the serum was supposed to prevent that, but he quickly stopped when the crowd of reporters were sitting right in front of him, shark-eating grins on all of their faces. The press conference hadn’t even started and he felt like he wanted an Advil. Not like those would work, but the serum had apparently decided to fail him today, so maybe they would work. He didn’t blame the serum either; if he could, Steve would have bailed. But, as it was, he was somehow still the Cannot Do Anything Wrong Man in the eyes of the public thanks to the endless PR that had been done about him over the decades and despite the mini-Civil War incident, as everyone had dubbed it. The spin that Maria had put on it, making Ross the villain was clever, not that there was another villain besides him. 

Honestly, the entire thing today was completely stupid and unnecessary, but people were people and they needed things to be said, so here he was. Dressed in his monkey suit, but without the damned cowl, he was staring into the crowd and hoping to god that his irritation wasn’t showing on his perfected showgirl face. Behind him were the rest of the Avengers--sans Antman and sans The Wasp--who were currently not helping his migraine. 

“I don’t see why we’re here,” Bucky, the little shit, was quietly saying, even though none of their mics had been turned on yet. “S’not like I sucked his dick in public or anythin’.”

”You should do that, after,” Clint was probably grinning, egging Bucky on and unaware of his future merciless death in Steve’s hands. “Throw the conservatives all for a loop.” 

“I’m not objecting,” Tony said, also unaware of his future death. 

“We’re all going to be dragged back here,” Sam helpfully pointed out, and automatically rewarding himself an entire batch of cookies. “And Steve’s going to have to talk again.” Maybe two batches of cookies. 

“One of these days, Steve’s going to be the reason we’re all here, and then we can do whatever,” Clint said. No, Steve was never going to be the reason they were here, because he had self-control and this little concept called discretion mastered. 

“Until then, Steve’s plotting all of your murders,” Natasha piped in, sounding all too amused. “Slowly and carefully.”

”He wouldn’t kill me,” Bucky said too-confidently for someone who was at the top of Steve’s shit list. 

He could hear Natasha’s smirk as she said, “He would if it meant avoiding this.” 

“Steve is projecting a high amount of murderous thoughts towards you,” Wanda said, and oh, he should probably try and hide those thoughts before Wanda accidentally read him open. Discretion. “And irritation.”

“I’ll knit him something. Steve always melts for my ugly sweaters,” Bucky confidently said, like Steve didn’t have super hearing that heard the entire conversation. Steve had caught on after the second misshapen sweater was presented to him with a too-innocent smile that Bucky had learned from him. He always let it slide before because they were small apologies and that was always the kind of shit that Bucky would pull, so it was more a past thing. 

Steve eyed the timer that counted down before the conference officially started and his mic was turned on. Twenty seconds. He turned around and hissed, “I use them as cleaning rags, you utter bastard.” He turned around to check the timer. 15 seconds. 

A beat. Then, “Where did he learn how to fake it?” 

“Probably the same place the people you used to sleep with went,” Steve turned around and responded to Bucky. 

He plastered the smile on and faced the crowd just as his mic turned on. 

“Hello, everyone,” he cordially greeted, hating everything in the world. “I—“

Clint turned his mic in and interrupted, “You might be wondering why we’re all here,” before Steve could glare at him. Clint’s mic promptly shut off. 

“I’m pretty sure that everyone knows why we’re all here,” Steve dryly said, eliciting a few laughs from the crowd of reporters. “So let’s get started. Everyone already knows about the battle against the marshmallow robot squid, thanks to the previous conference where I never thought I would say those three words together in any professional context.” More people laughed. 

“Is he always this snarky when he’s just done?” Clint asked. 

“You have no idea, man,” Sam sighed. 

Steve ignored them both, and the pang of jealousy at their private words as he continued on. “Everyone here also knows about the viral photo of the aftermath, I’m assuming. It is also right behind me, for those that don’t.” 

Another round of laughter, and the whispers of a few speculations that he was drunk, to be cracking jokes. Steve sighed. 

“After all of the public reactions that we, the team, have been notified of yesterday, this conference was called. And frankly, it was good that it did, since many members of the media—”

”Try saying that five times fast,” Tony quietly interrupted from behind him. 

“—have had such blatantly negative and hate-filled comments that will not be tolerated by the team. It is awful that their relationship has been outed to the public, but it also much more disgusting that it has become the subject of such vitriol from many. The team supports and loves both Tony and James unconditionally, and none of us, especially me, will take kindly to any negative words or actions to them. And as for those who were wondering what any of our stances were on the matters of LGBTQA+ matters, and please do tell me if I have the acronym wrong, we fully support them. Love is love, any questions?”

”Captain, you have just said that you especially wouldn’t take any negative words against them. Is it personal?” A man from a few rows back asked. He didn’t seem to come from any news channel Steve knew of, and he knew what this question meant. 

Steve pretended to misunderstand, not because he didn’t want to share, but because this wasn’t about him today, or that was what he told himself. “Of course it is,” he answered to a few gasps. He continued on, “Tony and Bucky are two of my closest friends and they have already endured so much negativity from the world that I will not let one more thing be hurled at them.” 

“Your words don’t match up with your angry and disapproving face in the picture,” one of the reporters from one of the more neutral papers said. Steve still didn’t recognize them. 

Steve looked back to the picture and then back to the crowd, rolling his eyes. He cracked a smile. “It’s hard not to be disapproving when two of your team members are making time and completely ignoring the conversation on the comms, including orders to go to medical or to go find Dr. Banner.” 

The whispers of if he was a funny LMD of Captain America increased. 

“Why are you giving the statement, Captain, and not Iron Man or The Winter Soldier?” Christine Everheart asked. This reporter, Steve knew and recognized. He had somewhat of a like/dislike of her. 

He turned back to his team and dryly asked, “Yeah guys, why am I up here?”

Everyone’s mics now turned on. 

“Steve can make a face of disappointment like no one else,” Tony laughed off. “And people tend to be more respectful to him.”

”Also, as soon as Steve is done, we’re posting a statement,” Bucky added, acting like he wasn’t a bastard just a few minutes ago. 

“Are any of the other members of the team gay?” 

Steve really didn’t know how to answer that question, insensitive as it was. 

“He’s pansexual,” Bucky said, pointing to Tony, “And I don’t even know about myself, but the people callin’ me a skirt-chaser in the 30s weren’t wrong.”

”Now you’re also a... pants-chaser. Everyone wears pants in the 21st century,” Tony affectionately said. 

“Steve just wears khakis,” Bucky pointed out. 

He was suddenly wishing for the cowl, to cover up the sudden indignation on his face. “My khakis are not why we are here, Buck.”

”It’s a damn shame, Steve. Your fashion choices are more than sad enough to warrant a press conference,” Tony smirked, also earning himself a nice spot on the shit list. 

Steve turned back to the crowd of reporters, many of whom were amused by the banter. He noted that they were the ones who had also laughed at his jokes, whispered about the influx of jokes, and the ones who were wholeheartedly approving or at least accepting of Tony and Bucky. They were also mainly a younger, more diverse population, as opposed to the stoic, older reporters, who were actually fewer, compared to Steve’s first press conference. That was... that was strangely refreshing. 

He took a lot more questions from them than the others, and made a silent promise to read newspapers that weren’t the old Fox News or CNN. 

 

* * *

* * *

 “Hey Steve,” Natasha called out to him as soon as he stepped out of the building. 

“Hey Natasha,” he said, walking over to her, while she was just walking over to his bike. He had come to the building not via Happy, like everyone else, but from the library on his bike. 

“It came up,” she flatly pointed out. 

Steve was confused for a second, not knowing what she meant, before suddenly recalling his excuse for not telling anyone about his sexuality or what he did. “Okay, it did.”

”What’s the excuse this time?” Natasha asked, eyebrow quirked as she stopped at his bike. 

“Well,” he said, climbing on. “Wasn’t really my moment to step on.” 

“It wouldn’t have distracted everyone from throwing stones at Tony and Bucky, Steve, so don’t you start,” Natasha said, hopping on behind him like she had done it a million times. To his memory, this was the second time. 

“Right. Not like the news would have headlines proclaiming the three gay avengers, which none of us are, and not like the news would turn the story into a dime novel plot with either a love triangle involving me either stealing my decades-long lover from Tony and causing him to revert to his playboy ways, or me stealing Tony from Bucky and breaking my best friend’s heart with a bunch or references from Twilight and the Winter Soldier, or worse: someone writing up a long, well-thought out plan for whatever the word for a threeway romantic relationship is,” Steve dryly responded, pulling that response completely out of his ass and doing completely well for it. It actually sounded well thought out, and he was surprised at himself.

”Polyamory,” Natasha supplied, looking shocked herself at his response. Shocked as she could be. “And that was so beautiful that I’m having a hard time you pulled it out of thin air, because you’re not this eloquent otherwise.” 

Steve clutched at his heart and gasped dramatically. “Be still my beating heart! Betrayed by my own supposed lover!” He then proceeded to start his bike and drive them both back to the Tower. 

Natasha merely responded, “You laugh, but it gives a Pepper and I a cover.”

”Then I always have a cover. So why don’t people get off my case?”

”You could get a case to get people off your case,” Natasha ever-so-helpfully suggested, and he groaned. 

“I do have a... case,” he lamely said, thanks to the weird metaphor.

“A head case,” Natasha muttered.

“Thanks,”  he dryly said. “Never heard that one before.” 

“You might want to start listening to people,” she suggested again. 

“We’re at the Tower,” Steve said. 

 

* * *

* * *

He woke up the next morning to hundreds of messages on his phone and a picture of his room with one notable change to it. There was a giant banner that proudly proclaimed “WINTERIRON THANKS YOU FOR THE HELP” while a second, smaller banner proclaimed “CHECK THE GROUP CHAT, STEVE” and a third one—the smallest—proclaimed “WHERE ARE YOU?”

Steve groaned softly, and then checked the time on the helpfully-positioned alarm clock next to him. 9:25. Sunday. He didn’t know that alarm clocks had weekdays and dates in them; that was nice. If it wasn’t for JARVIS, he would have been lost many, many times before. Still, he was going to have to go buy one. It was cool. 

“Stop staring at my clock, Steve,” Qasim said, his voice groggy and raspy, but fully amused. “I know they had those in the 40s.” 

“You're an asshole,” Steve responded, his voice as equally raspy from what he did last night. The serum apparently didn’t think that was a problem to be fixed.

“You’re figuring that out now?” Qasim asked. 

This no-strings thing between Qasim and him was probably the longest relationship he had this century, and he was starting to find that he didn’t mind that at all. They had met in a random chance encounter; Qasim had been talking at a gender studies seminar that SHIELD had signed him up to as part of his cultural reintroduction and sensitivity experience, unaware that he wasn’t actually a raging misogynistic dude (he didn’t hold it against SHIELD for taking precautions though). Steve had spent half the seminar wondering who in their minds actually thought what was being said, before remembering that hey, a few months ago, he knew just who was thinking that. He had spent the other half of the seminar, the portion Qasim was talking, in rapt interest. 

After it ended, he had walked up to Qasim and asked where he could learn more. To his delight, Qasim had offered to tell him more, seemingly not caring about Captain America or anything. He wouldn’t avoid it, but the extent that Qasim talked about it either involved jokes or texts wondering if he was okay after a battle. And that was how they had become excellent friends. It hadn’t been until later, probably nearing the end of his thing with Maria (the first time), that they had ‘hooked up’ at Qasim’s apartment. After that, it had become quasi-regular for both of them, talking, fucking, and everything else but dating in the middle. Neither of them were exclusive, but they were both fine with that (Steve had checked), and they lived. Up until the disaster of SHIELD, it had been exclusively an affair at Qasim’s apartment (or whoever else he went with), since Steve’s was monitored and he didn’t want to give away that he knew, but after, he had the freedom to do whatever he wanted, so buying a bug-free apartment was a priority, even if he was going to accept Tony’s offer. 

Steve, after all, did value discretion a lot more than people gave him credit for. Having his own apartment to live in and take a break in sometimes was just what he needed. 

Qasim also mostly didn’t care about his publicly not-out state, as long as Steve was okay with meeting a few people from time to time. Steve hadn’t cared about that either, especially since it would be weird if he didn’t know anything else about the life of the guy who he was—whatever it was called. He had offered to reciprocate in kind, offering Qasim a chance to meet the Avengers, before Qasim had turned that down with a smile and a shake of his head. Steve understood Qasim’s response on a personal level. 

“Figuring out a lot of things,” Steve mumbled, plopping his head back down onto the bed from where he was admiring the clock and putting his phone back on the nightstand with another small, confused groan. He had also just realized that the two of them were tangled together, which was probably why Qasim was barely awake and yet awake. He didn’t make any effort to move, knowing that moving meant dealing with that train wreck on his phone. “What’s winteriron?”

”What?” Qasim asked, slightly startled. Steve took that as a yes, Qasim did know what Tony was talking about. “Who told you that?”

“Tony,” Steve said, explanation enough. 

“Iron Man knows the superhero shipname for him and the Winter Soldier,” Qasim stated, “And he sent it to you, Captain fucking America. Am I dreaming?” 

“I wish I was,” Steve muttered, “So I could wake up.”

”Do you have to leave?” Qasim asked, trying to untangle the two of them, starting with their legs. Steve appreciated the fact they had done this enough times that it wasn’t weird for either of them.

”No,” Steve said. “Not for a long while.” 

Qasim looked at Steve like he didn’t quite believe him, which he took full offense for, and tried to grab at Steve’s phone. Steve was just smirking at Qasim’s failure. Somehow, that ended in Qasim using his entire body to try and lean over to grab Steve’s phone, horribly failing, and landing almost completely on top of Steve. Steve was laughing now. 

“Not that I mind,” Steve said, because he knew he was an asshole, “I really don’t, but you’re heavy, and my brain thinks we’re going to—”

”Oh fuck you,” Qasim retorted, pushing himself back onto his side of the bed, and Steve was biting back his own retort, “Mr. 250-Pounds-Of-American-Beef.” 

“That’s Captain 250-Pounds-Of-American-Beef to you, Dr. Whatever-Number-It-Is-Pounds-Of-Iranian-Beef,” Steve corrected. 

“Title kink? That’s new,” Qasim said. 

Steve narrowed his eyes. Qasim hadn’t even made an effort to try to get Steve’s phone. “What are _you_ avoiding?” 

“Same thing as you.”

”You're avoiding checking a newly created group chat on your phone that has already blown up with texts from the Avengers while also avoiding whatever mess they’ve gotten into and three banners in your bedroom that are thanking you for the help, asking for more help, and wondering where you are?” Steve asked. 

Qasim raised an eyebrow. “Yikes man, you sound stressed. When was the last time you got laid?” 

Steve rolled his eyes at the stupid joke. “Haha.” 

“I’m avoiding three texts from my mother while also avoiding whatever mess she’s going to land me into and the questions she going to invariably ask about how my dating life is going, which basically means how you’re doing, how my job is going, and if I can come to whatever party is next.” 

Steve groaned, for the third or fourth time already. “Your mother is going to hate me.”

”She hates you already,” Qasim cheerfully said. “According to her, you’ve given Zahreen ‘unrealistic hopes of men’ so that she finds ‘all of my matchmaking choices in ill taste’ and ‘rejects them all’ quickly.” 

“Oh jeez,” Steve said. 

“Mm hmm, you’ve also managed to ‘outdo her in tidying” and ‘win over the club’s hearts unholy fast’ from that time I had to use you as an emergency date,” Qasim continued. 

“Oh jeez,” Steve repeated. 

“It gets better. She’s also admitted that your cherry tarts are the best tarts she’s eaten.” 

“Oh jeez.” A beat. “Wait, how does she know about... she stole the tart you stole from me, didn’t she?” 

“Didn’t even get to try it,” Qasim reminisced regretfully. 

Steve laughed. “Karma.” 

“You don’t even understand how good your tarts are.”

”Great, just great, you think a guy wants to be friends and he just likes your cherry tarts.”

”You're naked, in my bed, for whatever number time it is. I’m pretty sure cherry tarts are number two on your list. Close, but not first.” 

“What do I have to do to make that gap wider?” 

 

* * *

 

* * *

Steve showed up at the Tower a little later than noon. So maybe they had gotten a little carried away earlier, and maybe it had been a few minutes past eleven when one of them (Steve, for once) realized that they had lives and possibly very angry family to deal with, and maybe they didn’t stop until a few minutes past eleven thirty. Whatever. This time, it wasn’t his fault, and it wasn’t him that was going to get an ear lashing from his mother. He was pretty sure he could deal with the team. 

Unless they were all waiting for him in the communal room, where JARVIS has taken him without Steve even saying anything. 

“Hey,” he greeted, stepping out of the elevator and bracing himself for whatever had warranted hundreds of messages at ungodly hours. And those banners. Where had those even come from? 

“Steve,” Tony seriously started. “This is an intervention.”

He blinked. “A what?”

”An intervention,” Clint repeated, still seriously. 

“For the record, repeating does not explain anything. Why is there an intervention for me?” 

“There are a few,” Tony started. “Starting off with one for how to use technology.”

Steve blinked again, and then ran a hand through his hair. “Is this about the group chat? I saw the messages when I woke up, and I also ignored them.” 

“Intervention number two: avoiding team members’ messages,” Tony said, looking surprised at that one. 

“With a guest appearance from Pepper Potts?” Steve dryly commented, shooting a look at Tony. “And/or Colonel Rhodes?” 

“He has you there, Tony,” Bruce said, looking amused rather than anything, and not even annoyed or reluctant, like he was at most of Tony’s team schemes. 

“Intervention number three: not disappearing from your floor here or your apartment,” Clint stated. 

“That... that doesn’t even make sense,” Steve said. 

“You can’t just disappear on us like that, Steve. Makes everyone worried, and someone wouldn’t let us track your phone,” Tony said, shooting a glare at an unrepentant Natasha, who Steve now owed another cherry tart. The number of baked goods he used as favors was astonishing, and he probably should have reconsidered that favour system long ago. 

”We has the personal boundaries talk, right?” Steve asked, thankful he hadn’t been there for that conversation. “Where we don’t use the security system to indulge in voyeurism or track others’ phones for recreational purposes?” 

“Indulge in voyeurism,” he heard Clint whisper gleefully. 

“Where were ya, Stevie?” Bucky asked, somehow silent up until right now. 

“Apartment,” he said, not lying. 

“Liar. We checked,” Tony said. 

“Personal boundaries, Tony,” Steve said, rolling his eyes. “And how exactly did you check?” 

“I did respect your boundaries,” Tony exclaimed. “Which is why I called the night guard person to ask if he saw you.” 

Steve smirked. This was perfect. “You mean the Don the night watchman, who is notoriously unreliable because he’s always half drunk on the days that management doesn’t come? Or Ellie the morning watch-woman, who doesn’t get informed about the things that Don doesn’t notice?” 

“Intervention number four: living in shitty building complexes with said drunk watchman,” Tony shuddered. 

“I stay at the Tower more often than not,” Steve protested, shooting a subtle glance to Sam and Natasha, as if to say _back me up, please_.

The betrayers didn’t even bat an eye. Natasha looked like she hadn’t even seen it, but he knew she had. 

“Our final intervention, then,” Tony said. “You don’t have social media.”

Steve dryly raised an eyebrow and gave him an unimpressed look. “Look, if all these interventions are things that I can talk myself out of with a sentence, they aren’t very good interventions.” 

“Jeez, someone’s snappy.”

”I hate press conferences,” Steve flatly said, glaring at Tony and Bucky. 

Bucky shrugged innocently. “He was right there, dashing hero and all.” He shot Tony a starry look and Steve bit down a reflex to tease them by gagging or tease them by saying something. He chose to roll his eyes, since he was not Clint, and had better self-control. 

“Get a room,” Clint muttered, right on count. 

“Aw, you say the sweetest things,” Tony replied with the same look, before turning to face Steve in a stunning emotion-changing display it gave him whiplash. “And you do not.”

”The world could disagree with you there, Tony,” Steve smirked. “Now, are all my interventions done?”

”No, you don’t have social media.” 

Steve shot him the same dry look from before. “JARVIS, please tell Tony he’s wrong.”

JARVIS sounded all too delightful—and seriously, _how_ did JARVIS have a personality and tone inflections and _emotions_?—when he said, “Sir, I believe that you are wrong.” 

Steve grinned triumphantly; the look on Tony’s face was just too funny. 

“Wait, what?” Sam asked. “Since when do you have something? What do you have?”

”Twitter, Instagram, Tumblr, VSCO, and Snapchat.” 

“And we’ve never known?”

”Nat knows,” Steve said. “Wanda and I have a 100+ streak running.”

”What are your accounts?” Tony asked, and Steve fell silent, not knowing how to best express it. 

“Oh Steve runs a,” Natasha started as Steve looked at her in alarm, “Twitter that is heavily devoted to political issues, only everyone thinks he’s a passionate college student. His Instagram is filled with drawings and photos he’s taken, and same with the VSCO. Steve’s tumblrs, on the other hand, are hilarious. One is an artistic account, and the other is something that everyone assumes to be a parody Cap account but—”

”Natasha!” Steve hissed indignantly, “Sam, Clint, and Tony all follow my account!” 

Sam looked like he was having a religious experience. “You run capsteverogers1918? Man, what?”

Steve shook his head disapprovingly at Natasha. “It started off as a joke that Q—caught my interest.” He had been this close to saying Qasim’s name, which was a first. He knew Natasha had caught the slip, and maybe Bucky and Clint, being spies and all, but he hoped no one else did, or that no one thought anything of it. 

Tony rolled his eyes and then rubbed his hands like he was cooking up a plan. “We’re getting you a verified Captain America Twitter. You’re the only one left, Steve! The people want you!”

Steve coughed politely. “I’m not for sale.” He walked back into the elevator. 

 

* * *

 

* * *

Natasha slipped in just as the doors closed. She was looking at him analytically, just as she had done all those years ago in the helicarrier before and during the Chitauri. Oh god. She had noticed, and she was going to call him out.

“You have a bag of cherries,” she simply stated, standing right next to him and looking at the doors, just as he was. Only he wanted to get out, out, out, and she was just doing to be intimidating. Her voice was impassionate, but he could hear the heavy implications behind it. 

“I also have pie crusts prepped, if you want to wait a little while for the filling,” he responded in kind. “One.”

”Fair,” she nodded. “And if I want to occupy that time?”

“There’s nothing stopping you,” Steve responded, watching the doors open and stepping out, Natasha right behind him silently. The elevator dinged as it went down again, leaving the two of them walking to the kitchen on his floor. Well, his and formerly Bucky’s, not that Bucky used it much anymore. Steve wasn’t often any better, but he still used it. Well, mostly the kitchen. 

He started pulling out cherries, sugar, and a few other ingredients for the filling and started working methodically. He was spending more of his attention waiting for Natasha to say something, so he wouldn’t be surprised. 

“Your phone said you were—” There it was. 

“Not at my place,” Steve cut in. “So no one except you, I take it?” The tracking his phone thing was clear. 

“You’re welcome.” He rolled his eyes, just picturing the raise of her right eyebrow in amusement. She was sitting on the kitchen stool behind him, or standing somewhere—he couldn’t tell since he was standing in front of her and looking forwards—so he couldn’t see it. 

“There’s someone in your life,” she said. “You’ve been lying, Steve Rogers.” 

“Oh,” he scoffed. “Can’t have friends now?”

”Starts with a C, or a K,” she pointed out. “Makes a ‘kah’ sound.” 

“Have fun,” he said, knowing she was going to get nowhere with that. Unless she looked up the address he had been at. Then she’d know more than what he was telling. 

“Does 2+2=4?” Natasha asked. _Is this person the person you stayed at for the night?_

Steve rolled his eyes. “Reputedly, I failed math class. You shouldn’t ask me.” _I‘m_   _not telling you that easily. Find out yourself._

Natasha sighed. In a voice he recognized to be one of her older covers, she said, “And here I thought we were best friends.”

 

* * *

* * *

"Hey,” Steve said as Qasim opened the door for him. “I think I have them right this time.” 

It was basically a long-held tradition for the two of them to have chips-and-seltzer nights on stressful days, since Steve could t get drunk and Qasim didn’t drink unless it was at an event or a work thing. And even then, a glass or two of wine or champagne was it. The seltzer was pretty much agreed upon, but the chips were not. Steve was willing to eat most chips—plain SunChips and buffalo chicken flavored pretzel chips were the exceptions so far—and Qasim was the same, except for one type. 

He absolutely hated chips that advertised themselves as spicy, and then did not deliver. Qasim’s advanced taste buds (read: heavily used to Iranian, Middle Eastern, and Indian foods) were practically immune to the purple Doritos’s version of spicy, or anything of that sort. It was always a struggle for Steve to find spicy chips (and of course they had to be Qasim’s favorite, the fucking bastard) and he hoped that he had gotten it right this time. 

Steve had bought two large bags of purple Doritos (for himself so Qasim wouldn’t fucking steal), a large bag of Lime Takis (for Qasim and his developed spice tolerance), a bag of Sour Cream and Onion Lays (up for grabs) and a few liters of seltzer. They were all in a cute brown paper bag with a floral design that almost looked like it was drawn. 

“Lime Takis?” Qasim asked with interest, peeking into the bag with a smile. “Think you can handle them?”

Steve scoffed. “I’m reckless, not suicidal. There’s no way I’m dying of heat and strangulation.” He walked inside Qasim’s beautiful apartment and then tossed the Takis at Qasim, knowing that both of them wouldn’t touch each other’s chips; Steve out of fear and Qasim out of distaste.

“And to think you’re second dumbest Avenger,” Qasim teases, opening his bag and plopping down onto his couch by climbing into it. Somehow, he didn’t manage to spill anything, which Steve was oddly amazed by.

Steve scoffed again. “Who calls me that?”

“Time Magazine, People Magazine, Fox News whenever you do something that veers slightly off their path—so everything—gossip rags that call you a beefy hunk, um you know what? Most of the media,” Qasim said. “Thor’s proclaimed dumbest.”

Steve gaped, trying to say something and finding that he couldn’t defend himself. He squawked indignantly and then sat down, shaking his head.

“Steve?” Qasim smirked, pulling a seltzer out of the brown bag that Steve had dropped between them.

“I—Oh lord, they’re right. Only Thor’s royalty who’s been learning stuff for a thousand and a half years so... I’m the dumbest Avenger. Oh god. Is this a midlife crisis?” 

Qasim laughed, the bastard. “You’re too old and too young for that.” 

“No, no, no, this isn’t... Tony’s a genius, Bruce has seven PhDs, Clint has a freaky IQ that’s either near Bruce and Tony’s, or above it, Natasha’s Natasha, Thor has the 1500 years of knowledge, Wanda’s getting her masters and also has a freaky IQ, and the list just goes on. Vision has the Internet in his mind, let’s not forget about... damn. Thanks Qasim,” Steve trailed off in realization, finding explanations for every single Avenger. 

“Hmm, I was going to pull up Inception, but if you can’t handle that...” Qasim said, pausing dramatically. “I don’t know, Steve, it’s a complicated movie.” 

Steve narrowed his eyes. “Bastard.”

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

“Oh god,” Steve said when the credits began to play. “What did I just watch? Was it all just a... oh god.” 

“See?” Qasim smirked triumphantly, attempting to steal a Dorito and then frowning when he realized there were none left in Steve’s bag. On the contrary, he still had a few Takis left. 

“You don’t even like these, stop stealing and then complaining,” Steve rolled his eyes. He got up to throw away his bag, and the two seltzer bottles he had finished (today had been stressful, with the entire team trying to help him with his Twitter and his public Cap media rather than his normal social media). 

“Mâmân has spent the last three days yelling at me about finding a date for the Jahandar’s soirée; I can complain all I want,” Qasim said, wincing at some painful memory. 

Steve laughed this time, nudging Qasim as he sat back down, reaching for the remote. “If only your students could see you now, Dr. Smooth.” 

“You do have a title kink,” Qasim smirked, holding it away from him, as if Steve could get it easily. “Captain.” 

“If you think that’s going to stop me from getting the remote,” Steve said, pausing his sentence to lunge for it, surprising Qasim. “You’re fucking wrong.” Steve twirled it in his hand in victory. 

Qasim rolled his eyes, but didn’t make an effort to steal it back. 

Steve went through his Netflix and tried to find the other movie that Qasim had talked about somewhere during the middle of Inception. He had heard of the Matrix before, how could he not with both Tony _and_ Bucky, but hadn’t gotten around to watching. They still had plenty of time and Steve was smart enough to buy more bags of chips, knowing himself. He had finally found it, and Keanu Reeves’ famous face, when he noticed that Qasim was lost in thought. 

Completely lost in thought, like he was having a revelation. A shocking revelation, if Qasim’s facial expression—Steve snapped a quick photo of it on Qasim’s phone since he was an asshole—was anything to go by. Steve didn’t know what to do, and he wondered what the hell _was_ happening. 

“Qasim?” Steve asked cautiously. “Are you okay, man?”

The other man blinked, and then stared pointedly at the screen, nodding a yes. “You haven’t watched this one yet? Ready to get your mind fucked again?” Steve wondered what that speedy response was for, but didn’t question it as he pressed play. Fuck if he didn’t space out sometimes. 

Wrong.

Barely five minutes in, Qasim turned to Steve nervously and looked like he was about to say something. Steve paused the movie, not really knowing much about it to complain about the interruption just yet. He raised an eyebrow. “Care to share with the class?”

”Can you be my emergency date again?” Qasim asked, completely unlike the time he had asked last time, all assured and joking. Steve tried to figure out what had changed, before an answer jumped out to him, flashing white. Steve thought there couldn't be any way that the odds had lined up this well for him.

Truth was, Qasim was the issue that Steve wanted to straighten out, and it was through no fault of the other man's. Steve was perfectly content with his life, yes, but he was still a person, and he wanted more. And maybe he was perfectly fine with not being exclusive, but that didn't mean he didn't want to  _try._ Oblivious as he was, he hadn't realized it until a few days ago, right when they had been randomly talking in the morning about his cherry tarts and Qasim's mother. It wasn't even a large revelation either, but rather one that just felt right, that he had slightly-more-than-platonic feelings for his not-so-platonic-yet-platonic friend. Nothing had changed, despite the thought, and Steve had just shrugged it off, but now, with this new discovery and Qasim's uncharacteristic nervousness...

Steve tested his theory out the way he did everything else; jumping in without any sort of caution. “Yes,” he said, “But there’s one thing.” 

“What?” Qasim asked, weary. 

“Grab a coffee with me on Saturday,” Steve said, a slight smirk forming on his face as he tossed a suggestive glance towards Qasim. “See what happens. Maybe I won’t have to be an _emergency_ date.” 

Just like that, it was like the nervousness had never existed. Steve thought it was kind of cute, actually, that the other man had actually _worried_. Not that he’d ever say it and risk getting plain SunChips again. 

“Saturday,” Qasim echoed with a smile. “Sounds good, but for right now...”

Steve laughed and turned on the movie again. 

 

* * *

* * *

“Sunday,” Steve flatly said, as he was half-heartedly listening to something that Tony was saying about a party and reminders. “This Sunday? As in two days from today, Sunday?” 

“Yeah, as in two days from today, Sunday,” Tony said, drumming his fingers on the kitchen counter. “Why? Got any plans?” He suddenly sounded very interested, and a mischievous grin broke out onto his face. 

He didn’t let that intimidate him, or shake him off. Nonchalantly, he responded, “I do, actually,” while finally figuring out that 13 Down was disarmament. Steve reclined slightly into the couch he was sitting on, hoping he was projecting vibes to not question him further. 

And since everyone in this Tower were scamming and nosy people, he was not left alone. So much for discretion. 

“Is it your barbershop quartet?” Clint teased from where he was flipping pancakes, having been designated the breakfast-man for today. Steve never missed Clint’s pancakes if he could help it. There were just some things that couldn’t be replicated or beat. 

“Nope,” Steve said, dragging his pen over to 7 Down, which was glockenspiel. Which meant that 13 Across was demystification, sharing the d from 13 Down’s disarmament and sharing its first i with 7 Down. 

He had briefly forgotten about Wanda, who could read his mind if she so chose, and who could also read the aura that he was giving off. He closed his eyes and made sure that the mental blocks she had taught him to put up were still there. It was a secret between the two of them that she could do that, one she had developed since his serum had also intensified his ‘aura’. According to Wanda, whoever his mental blocks weren’t up, he was always projecting too hard for her to concentrate elsewhere, which sometimes derailed her from doing her job. 

They had their own perks for him too. Steve had always had an excellent poker face but he quickly realized that the mental blocks (shields, if he was really going to go for the pun) helped him with his lying abilities, along with controlling his face and mind more. He briefly wondered if this was what Wanda felt, having too much control over herself, and yet too less. Or how Natasha felt, carefully manipulating her body to get what she wanted. 

“What plans could you have that are more important than my party?” Tony scoffed where where he was sitting on a kitchen stool, half propped up in the counter. Well, not anymore, since he was gaping at Steve, which was uncomfortable. 

“Stevie has plans?” Bucky asked, walking silently and plopping down right next to Tony. Oh god, not Bucky. 

He ignored them all and instead tried to finish the damn crossword. It had been a gag present, from Bucky no less, but Steve was steadily working through them, enjoying the stimulation. There were packed with references to things that he had missed from all his years of catch-up, which was also a nice plus. He had finally understood the Golden Girls references that Tony sometimes made. 

“On Sunday,” Sam conspiratorially said, eating his plate of pancakes, having gotten them first. Steve was very jealous.

“Thanks, Sam,” Steve said, writing down Lebanese as another answer. “True friendship right there.” 

“Sunday? That’s the par—oh,” Bucky realized, grabbing the next plate of pancakes that Clint has placed quick enough to be a reflex. Tony scowled at his boyfriend, before grabbing a second fork and stealing some. 

Steve merely nodded, getting up and taking a seat at the counter, grabbing the stool on the other side of Bucky. He wanted pancakes and he was fairly sure that Tony and Bucky were eyeing the next plate to share again. There was no way Bucky was going to beat him right now, not when he was hungry. 

“What kind of plans?” Clint asked, for the sake of making conversation. He actually didn’t seem to interested, or maybe that was just Clint playing it cool. Judging by the look Natasha was sending Clint, he had to believe it was the latter. 

He shrugged casually. “The kind where I can learn.” _About people, about culture, and about where this relationship will work_. 

Steve let the words linger in the air as he beat Bucky to the next plate of pancakes by a fraction of a second. It wasn’t his fault that his words made them all think and pause for a second. They were going to think what they were going to think, and he was going to live what his life was.

”You're going to school?” Wanda asked hopefully, perhaps delighted in finding another college buddy. Steve shook his head no. Then he thought about the dumbest Avenger line. Then he thought about his tendency to jump into things and how it was a joke that the people who mattered didn’t believe or hold him down for. Steve shook his head no a second time.

“Too dumb for that,” he joked, choosing to embrace it instead. See, he wasn’t a petty person, _Natasha and Qasim_. 

Bucky frowned. “No you aren’t. You turned down that math scholarship, didn’t you? Took the art one instead.” 

“Oh lord,” Steve said. “Not this again.” 

It was just at that moment when Bucky remembered just what Steve hoped he wouldn’t. Perfect, perfect timing. 

“Steve,” Bucky said, “Steven Grant Rogers.”

“Oh shit,” Clint muttered, flipping another pancake onto a plate and handing the finished one to Natasha, “He busted out the full name.” 

“Oh lord,” Steve repeated. "We are not doing this again.” 

“Steve,” Bucky stated.

”Bucky,” Steve said just as quickly and sharply.

”Stevie.”

”Bucky.”

”Steve.” Wanda giggled at whatever thoughts that Bucky was projecting. 

”Buck.”

”Steven.”

”James Buchanan Barnes, how dare you use such appalling language in this household!”

”Oh shit,” Clint muttered, resisting his eyebrows. “He busted out the scolding parent card.” 

“Stevie.”

”Buck.”

”St—”

”Nope. Can you guys not have a conversation with only two words like this is some 40s telepathy freakshow? It is too early in the morning for this kind of shit, and it will always be too early,” Sam interrupted loudly, completely fed up with the two of them. “Use your words. All of them.”

”Well, Steve here thinks that he a big, blond dumbass with barely two brain cells of intelligence instead of a big, blond dumbass with barely two ounces of self-preservation or a small chihuahua with no self-preservation.”

”And Bucky doesn’t realize that I have an average intelligence, which in this Tower, makes me—”

”Steve Grant Rogers, stop thinking that you weren’t good enough for that m—”

”Is this about the math? Goddamn, that was 80 years ago!”

”I,” Bruce mildly said, looking up from the article he was reading in his tablet, “Will never get used to that.” 

Bucky deflated, but Steve knew better than to assume it was forgotten. Still, for the moment, he took it as a win and exhaled. Bucky asked, “So where are you going to learn something?”

Steve smirked. “Best place there is to learn about what I want to know.” 

“That was a shit answer,” Tony grumbled as he looked sadly down at his empty plate. 

“He’s full of shit,” Bucky and Sam simultaneously said, before giving each other nods of acknowledgement. 

He smirked again. “Thanks.” 

 

* * *

* * *

Steve was late to their date by a whopping twenty-two minutes. He wasn’t at all surprised to see Qasim sitting at a table, sipping at a comically large drink and scrolling through his phone. Thankfully, Qasim was also seated at a relatively private table, so that Steve wouldn’t be swarmed with fans should they catch him. Today was definitely not the day he wanted that to happen. Then again, today was also the day he didn’t want to be so late, and here he was. Late.

“Hi stranger,” Steve greeted, sitting down on the chair across from Qasim near the small table. “I’m Steve.”

“Hi Steve,” Qasim played along with a smirk. “I’m Qasim.” 

“Cute,” he said. “But you look sad today.” 

“Can’t seem to find my date,” Qasim shrugged fondly. “He's the type to never be late. Should I be worried, do you think?"

“Maybe. Sounds like a real stand-up guy, though,” Steve remarked, tracing the circular outline of the table for a second with a finger. “Must have a good reason for being late.”

”Yeah, well,” Qasim said, running a hand through his perfect hair. “He’s also a busy guy, though he tries.”

”How long ya been waiting?” Steve asked, blinking at himself when a slip of Brooklyn popped out. What, was he going to start dropping his g’s now too?

”A little while,” Qasim said, checking the time. _22_ _minutes_ , Qasim didn't say. 

“Mind if I take his spot?” Steve asked. And when Qasim didn’t answer with words, just an eyebrow raise, Steve sighed apologetically. “I’m sorry, I—I tried to get here as fast as I could but I—”

Qasim shook his head with a smile. “Steve,” he cut off, sipping his drink. “It’s fine. But you’re paying.” 

“I know this probably is already a second coffee, but I am really sorry," Steve sighed, relieved and thinking about why and how he had been let off so easily. Then his ears picked up the sound of a press conference behind him. The one he had left early from, leaving Sam and Tony to answer in his place. 

Qasim smirked. "Well, I think I'll accept that apology in form of one Steven Grant Rogers suddenly standing up and telling everyone he had plans he didn't want to miss and a few coffees. Which, by the way, is a power trip, in case you don't know." He sipped at his drink all the while, and Steve belatedly realized he was hungry. 

"One mocha triple shot and a blueberry stud for Steve!" a barista called out, and Steve shot Qasim an inquiring look, as if to ask if he was the Steve in question. Qasim nodded. Steve rolled his eyes and went to go get his food. 

“Thanks,” he said as he sat back down. “You know me so well, _stranger_.” 

Qasim kicked Steve’s foot underneath the table. “Stop that.” 

“Footsie on the first date?” Steve teased, knowing he was grinning like an asshole. “Ambitious.”

”Gotta say, _Steve_ , your dating skills need work.” 

“I don’t know, seems like I’m learning a lot about you.”

* * *

He went to the Tower at noon on Monday, and found that all of them were barely awake and nursing hangovers. No one had even made breakfast yet. Or coffee. It must have been some party, because they were still in the renovated party floor. The bar was still open. 

“Hi!” Steve greeted, keeping his voice down so that no one would be complaining about bright lights and loud voices. “I brought food. And coffee.” 

Eyes instantly snapped open and looked at him. Never let it be said that Steve didn’t know how to deal with hangovers, even if he didn’t get them anymore. He had years of experience on his side, as the only sober guy, from the Avengers _and_ the Commandoes. Bucky’s serum had allowed to get nothing more than tipsy back then, but Steve knew that Thor’s mead would do the trick. 

“Everything’s in the kitchen but I didn’t bring enough for everyone, so I’ll whip up some eggs and baco—Wanda, your hands,” Steve trailed off as the young witch’s hand were seconds away from shooting something at him. There were already red streaks in the air that he didn’t want to know about. 

She looked down at them, and frowned, before they vanished, along with the red streaks. Suddenly, everyone looked a lot more sober. Steve sighed. Feedback loop was another concept entirely when it came to Wanda. 

“Okay, then,” Steve said. “Kitchen. Let’s go.” 

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

“I’m guessing yesterday went well,” Steve dryly said after he finally finished making everything to cover up the lack of food. With Thor, Jane, Darcy, Bucky, Tony, Pepper, Bruce, Natasha, Wanda, Clint, Sam, Scott, Maria, and Hope, he had severely underestimated the quantity. “Wait, where’s Vis?” 

“Sleeping,” Tony gleefully said. “Did you know Asgardian—“ 

“No, please don’t tell me,” Steve cut in, valuing his sanity. Anything that involved Asgardian liquor, or Tony sounding that giddy, was almost guaranteed to throw Steve into the deep end. “I don’t need to know.” 

“It’s fascinating, really,” Bruce said, sober enough that Steve knew he was probably just feeling the after-effects of Wanda’s feedback loop. Bruce didn’t even drink much, and he always knew his limits. 

“Nope,” Steve cut off again. “I don’t need to know, don’t tell me, I can’t even forget it or drink it off.” 

“Ha ha, very funny,” Darcy grumbled, and then he realized he was talking to a bunch of people who had, essentially, drunk something off. 

“You’re talking too loudly, Steve,” Sam complained into his mug of coffee. 

“Lightweight,” Steve shot back. 

“Oh, that’s how it is?” 

“Don’t listen to him, Sam,” Bucky interrupted Steve in a rare act of kindness towards Sam. “He doesn’t know what it’s like, Irish blood and all. Second only to the Russians.” 

“Our Russian isn’t doing too well right now, either,” Tony pointed towards Natasha, though she again, looked much better than everyone. She definitely looked better than Tony. “But I can’t imagine little Steve Rogers drinking people under the table. Where did it all go?” 

“Better question, where did you go?” Bucky asked, referring to the entire weekend. 

“I got myself a date,” Steve deadpanned, smirking at the irony of it. Of course, they thought he was smirking because he was lying and having fun evading. “And then we went to a party.” 

”Yeah?” Bucky asked, challenging him on the supposed lie. “How’d your _date_ go?”

”Fantastic,” Steve said, shit-eating grin plastered on. “Didn't even get yelled at for showing up late.” 

“Was she watching you trying to leave the press conference?” Bucky raised an eyebrow, and Steve wondered if it was too late now to back out of the conversation, not that he was going to. No one else was really paying attention, save for Tony, who was eating. 

“Apparently the place we went to is a fan of the Avengers,” Steve answered, avoiding the _she_  in Bucky’s question.

“Where’d you go, then?”

”A little café,” Steve said, knowing he was baiting Bucky at this point. 

“Sounds dumb,” Bucky commented, stealing a tater tot from Tony, who gave him a mock hurt look. 

“Oh, you get yourself a billionaire and suddenly normal dating spaces are dumb?” Steve said, shamelessly throwing both of them under the bus. 

“Yes,” Tony responded, without shame as well. “A café is like a first date cliché straight couple trope straight out of Hallmark, shame on you Rogers for coming up with a lie like that.”  

“It _was_ a first date,” Steve said, stealing two of Tony’s tater tots as well. “Also, what?”

“Leave my tots out of this,” Tony said. “They are innocent victims of your lies.” 

“Hey, don’t diss Hallmark movies!” Clint yelled from across, causing Sam to wince and then slap the other man. “Ow!” Sam slapped him again. 

Steve sighed. And then promptly ignored them. “Ask no questions and I’ll tell no lies.” Steve winked. He got up from where he was sitting and then began to work on dishes, knowing that no one would bother to do them today, and that would leave them crusted. 

Looking at the scene behind him, with Tony and Bucky occupied with each other, Sam and Clint half-heartedly tussling and stealing food, Jane and Darcy trying to take at least one PopTart from Thor (who was devouring them unrepentantly), Pepper and Bruce talking softly about the merits of Natasha’s drink skills, Natasha joining Maria, who was trying to get Wanda to sober herself up with her powers, and Scott and Hope talking about something Steve didn’t really pay attention to like normal people. Steve rolled his eyes. Sooner or later, Scott and Hope would be sucked into the crazy orbit, if Scott wasn’t already wormed in there. 

Steve smiled to himself, washing the pan in his hands. 

 

* * *

* * *

“Natasha,” Steve rolled his eyes as she was the only one left, and suddenly a lot more sober than before. He would have either place money on Wanda working some magic or Natasha faking some of it the entire time, had he not noticed her slipping out for at least forty minutes and then coming back with an orange smoothie that he knew was a beautiful, almost magical cure. “Really?”

”No one asked for some,” she shrugged unrepentantly, and he knew he had been right about it. 

“You’re going to teach me how, one day.” 

“No.”

”Aw. Anything I can do to barter for it?” Steve asked, hoping that this time, she’d finally give him something. That hangover cure worked like a charm, but it also tasted like heaven on earth, and he wanted to know how to make it for the sake of drinking it at this point. 

“No.” 

“One day,” he said, like he always did. This was a time-old exchange they had shared, never any different. 

“No,” she shook her head. “But I want to know something.” 

“No,” he said, imitating her short and to the point answer. 

Natasha smirked. “You think you’re so funny, Rogers.”

”Aw, we’re back to Rogers now, Romanoff?” Steve asked, drying his hands off on the towel that was there for post-dishwashing duties. 

“You think you’re so clever, too,” she said, eyes lighting up with a secretive gleam. 

“Do I?” Steve asked, playing coy. There were a myriad of things she could have been talking about, and he wanted to know what she was referring to without giving anything else away. 

“I didn’t know you were into Gender Studies, Steve,” Natasha merely asked, though it was a statement more than anything. 

Steve’s blood ran cold. She knew. She probably knew about the whole extent of it, too. Steve tried not to let anything show, though. He raised an eyebrow, playing it calm. Thankfully, years of experience had given plenty of training when it came to that, though it wasn’t near Natasha’s level of cool. 

“21st century; there’s a lot of things that I felt like I should learn,” Steve responded. 

“How long have you been taking the class?” Natasha pressed, and if she thought she was going to get answers with a weird metaphor, she was wrong. Maybe he had given in before, but this was a line she would have to budge herself. 

“Dunno,” he lied, “You tell me.” 

She searched his face for something, and then switched tactics. “If he asks you about Emilia, know that he passes the test.”

He felt something tighten in his chest. ”Natasha,” Steve growled just as she was about to leave with what she thought was the higher hand and a smirk. “Thought you, out of all, would respect my—”

Natasha smiled tightly. ”You can’t expect that to work on me.” 

“Don’t think I don’t know things about you, too.” 

“Things I’ve told you,” Natasha said uncertainly. 

Steve merely smirked, and left before Natasha could.

* * *

* * *

Natasha, Clint, and Bucky may have been the spies and assassins, but Steve kept secrets well enough no one would suspect him of it, unless he had slipped up either purposefully or accidentally. He knew the power of a good secret, and he knew the power of a secret revealed. It was what had led him to tell Tony about his parents, and it was what prevented Steve from withholding others. 

Natasha either thought he was bluffing, or thought he knew more. He did know more, and particularly about one Yelena Belova. Another Black Widow—thought to be terminated—who was actually working for Mossad, of all places, and who had helped him bring down many HYDRA bases. According Belova herself, the two of them were almost equally matched in skill and ambition, and yet also shared the largest bond. 

Steve didn’t know what to think, especially when the converse could just as easily be true. 

Still, he held onto the personal, team-affecting secrets he had. 

1\. Yelena Belova

2\. Qasim Tehrani

3\. Bisexuality (the closet, really)

4\. redacted

5\. redacted 

6\. redacted

7\. redacted

Steve didn’t know how his life had become like this, but he didn’t quite know whether to complain or not.

 _to be heavily continued_  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The other chapters will be a lot more different than this one, I’m just saying, but they will be no less episodic. 
> 
> Next up in chapters 2-5: Secrets 4-6 and maybe something else from someone else
> 
> (I’m also looking for betas, if anyone is interested)


End file.
